Chapter Text
Sukuna's rise to power in the modern era had been swift and merciless.
It had left the sorcerers scrambling, blindsided by his sudden resurrection. Within the first few hours of his awakening, he had regained seven of his fingers, despite it taking the sorcerers centuries to accumulate six of them.
Now, six years into his uprising, he was close to completion, sitting comfortably at seventeen of twenty fingers.
They didn't know much about how his incarnation had even happened, just that it was facilitated by a cult of fanatics put together by the parasite that inhabited his dearest friend's corpse.
Kenjaku.
Satoru still hadn't learned what that thing's goal was in this whole mess. Nowadays, he was far too busy to invest time in personal vendettas.
The Japanese government was in shambles, and the existence of curses had been exposed to the world at large. At first, other countries had tried to help them, but when their arsenal failed to make even a dent in Sukuna's power, Japan was completely abandoned. All shipments to and from Japan, whether by sea or air, had been cut off; even refugees were turned away.
Multiple major cities had been reduced to rubble from the clashes the sorcerers had had with Sukuna, and at least half of the country had fallen under his control, though not much was known about how he was managing the land, much less why he had a sudden interest in it. There were very few tentatively labeled "safe" zones left; areas that had been, so far, unscathed by the conflict that still had power, running water, and shelter.
They didn't even know where Sukuna currently was. From what they knew from the records, the King of Curses had never been shy about making his presence known, yet now he kept his whereabouts under tight lock and key. Not only that, but he seemed to limit his destruction to his clashes with sorcerers, while the reports had described Sukuna as killing with wanton abandon back in the Heian era. Either their records of the curse were wrong or…
Something had changed Sukuna's habits.
Not that that meant any of them could relax or let their guards down. Satoru can't remember the last time he'd closed his eyes for more than an hour.
He leaned against the door to his home on the Tokyo branch campus, one of the last remaining safe havens, and closed his eyes. His last mission had been grueling—the reverse cursed technique was the only thing keeping him going at this point.
He only has a moment to bask in the quiet before he turns his attention to the well of cursed energy that has made himself at home in his den.
He's greeted by the sight of an old man with long, silver hair pulled into a prim bun, and squinty, emerald green eyes perched in the center of his expensive leather couch with crossed legs. He wore a Western-style slate-gray suit and rested his hands upon a polished but simple wooden cane. His sharp jawline gave the impression that the man had once been handsome, and perhaps some would think he still was, but Satoru could hardly look past the ugly soul that lay beneath his skin.
Tachibana Masaru.
One of the higher-ups in Jujutsu society and one of the oldest members of the council that wasn't part of the big three clans. A feat that Satoru would consider impressive if he weren't just as rotten as the rest of them.
Cracked, bitter lips stretched over teeth yellowed with age in the facsimile of a smile. It didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes.
"Satoru-kun," he creaked, "I hope your mission went well."
"You should have told me you were coming; I would have prepared tea," Satoru drawled sarcastically. The last thing he wanted to see after a harrowing mission was one of the old men who made his life hell. At the very least, the old alpha had the courtesy not to stink up the place. Satoru isn't sure what he'd have done if his den had reeked of the bastard.
Masaru uncrossed his legs, leaning forward so that his cane bore the weight of his upper body. "No need for that. We won't be staying long."
"We? I only just got back," Satoru doesn't even really have to fake the whine in his voice. All he had to do was conjure up the thought of his nice, soft bed.
"You'll have plenty of time to rest later, and, if this goes right, we all will."
Satoru's brows shot to his hairline at the implication of that statement. Masaru's grin widened, pleased that he'd managed to pique Satoru's interest.
"We managed to land a significant blow to the King of Curses," Masaru vaunted, sounding especially pleased with himself. As if the man had had any part in the fight against Sukuna beyond barking demands. But Satoru held his tongue for once, curiosity overriding his impetuous defiance of the elders.
"Oh?"
"You've heard the reports of Sukuna keeping a bride, yes?"
"Rumors, you mean."
"So we thought," Masaru bobbed his head in acquiescence. "Come, I'll share with you the details on our way to our destination."
He braced his hands against his cane, pushing himself up to his feet. Satoru could hardly stand waiting for him to struggle up onto two legs, much less tolerate waiting for him to hobble to wherever they were going.
"Or, you could just tell me where we're going, and I'll zap us there."
The old man clucked his tongue disapprovingly.
"Come now, a brisk walk would do you good."
"Brisk" was far from reality.
Masaru trudged along at an agonizingly slow pace, and Satoru valiantly resisted the urge to pull out his hair. Thankfully for his sanity, the man finally broke the uncomfortable silence that had fallen over them after they had left the sanctity of Satoru's home.
"We managed to locate Sukuna's latest hideout. Last night, we launched a scouting operation to stake out the place," he said, almost conversationally, like he was reporting on the weather.
"And why wasn't I told about this?" Satoru kept his voice light and casual despite the small prickle of rage that burned at the back of his neck. Masaru waved a dismissive hand.
"We keep a tight lid on such valuable information. Strongest of this era, though you may be, you are still but a pup to us. We thought it wise to keep such info on a 'need to know' basis."
Satoru chuckled. It wasn't funny, not by a long shot. But if he didn't laugh at the sheer ridiculousness of not looping in the strongest sorcerer, he may just do something ill-advised, like punch the old alpha right in his smug face. Masaru must sense the underlying hostility.
"Don't take any offense to the decision; not even the scouts on the mission knew they were to be scouring Sukuna's hideout."
What?
"What," Satoru intoned, slowing to a stop while Masaru kept going.
"As I said before, we needed a tight lid on this information. Not only that, but few would be foolhardy enough to take on the mission if they knew they were to invade the home of Sukuna himself. We made a calculated decision to tell them it was simply a hideout for low-level cursed spirits. And it paid off far more than we could have accounted for."
"How many?"
Masaru paused a few feet ahead. He knew what Satoru was asking.
"We lost five of the seven scouts sent on the mission." He gripped his cane so tightly that his leathery knuckles paled. "Tragic, but a mere drop in the bucket of lives this war has taken."
"Why didn't you send me?" The question came out flat, a stark contrast to his normal, flippant tone. But he felt a little anger was justified. Why the hell had he been out hunting small fry when Sukuna had been right there?!
Masaru has the sense to look at least a little wary of his tone.
"We needed you elsewhere."
"I could have-!"
"Could have what?" Masaru scoffed, regaining his footing. "Sacrificed even more sorcerers to take care of the mission you were sent on? We'd already lost three sorcerers to the curse we sent you to handle. You were needed on that mission far more to save more lives in the long run."
"I could have ended Sukuna there! Instead, you sent those sorcerers to their execution."
"This is what I mean by you being a child. You've been the shark in the pond for far too long, and now you believe you're the biggest one out there. Sukuna has a thousand years on you, boy. Don't underestimate the power of experience," Masaru lectured, as if Satoru were a raging child. "Besides, we gained more than we lost. Not just information, but leverage. For the first time in years, we have a tangible victory. Do not insult their deaths by implying they died for nothing."
Masaru's gaze pierced through Satoru's opaque sunglasses before he turned away, continuing his slow trek toward the school, making it clear that their conversation ended there.
Satoru silently wrestled with the realization that they had thought him too weak to face Sukuna alone. Rage bubbled beneath his skin. He had mastered Limitless beyond what any previous wielder could even hope to match, on top of having the Six Eyes. He was the strongest, had been all his life.
He glowered darkly at Masaru's back. They would regret underestimating him.
Masaru led them to a cellar hatch that took them deep beneath the school. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the winding, empty tunnels, and Satoru swore his steps sounded heavier than usual, weighted down by the lives lost without him even knowing. To think that less than an hour ago, he had been daydreaming about his bed.
"We're here," Masaru suddenly announces. Satoru is pulled from his musing and follows his gaze, eyes alighting upon a heavy, reinforced door with two guards positioned on either side. The guards, two unfamiliar sorcerers carrying cursed staffs, scrambled to stand at attention. Satoru immediately pegs them as betas by their light, neutral scents.
"Tachibana-san!" the first guard barked, bowing his head respectfully. "There's been no change with the prisoner." Guard two nodded along eagerly, and Satoru imagined a big, fluffy tail wagging behind him. He wondered if Masaru taught them to roll over, too.
"Excellent. I've brought company to see our esteemed guest. If you would kindly open the door for us?"
"Yes, sir!" They yipped in unison, each pulling a set of keys from their belt to unbolt the two separate locks on the door. They fell away with a loud clang as they pushed open the door. Dim, flickering golden light poured through the doorway. Satoru recognized the room; he had only been in there a handful of times, though. After all, the elders didn't often take dangerous prisoners, preferring to "nip problems in the bud" rather than keep them around.
Satoru doesn't bother waiting for permission. The guards scrambled out of his way, staring at him reverently as he stepped toward the open doorway. He wasn't sure what he expected the infamous "Bride of Curses" to look like. He supposes he had gotten caught up in the speculative rumors, but it was hard to imagine the vicious curse settling down with a single partner for life, much less a human.
As a result, on the rare occasions he had entertained the rumors, Satoru had come to picture some manner of beast when referring to the bastard's so-called "wife." A hideous collection of mismatched limbs, with endlessly hungry mouths to match Sukuna's appetites, perhaps. Or, conversely, he had sometimes pictured the opposite. A towering seductress, perhaps akin to the whore of Babylon, drunk on the blood of saints and with her chalice overflowing with abominations.
What he hadn't expected was just a boy.
Wreathed in the ancient talismans meant to suppress even special-grade curses, the tightly wound, crumbling paper only served to highlight just how small he was. A boy of no more than twenty years, with rich, amber-wood colored eyes and hair like delicate pink petals, Satoru wondered for a second if they had kidnapped a peach blossom sprite.
It would certainly explain the rotted peach fragrance he emitted.
Satoru wrinkled his nose at the sickening scent of a distressed and pissed-off omega; it had been the first thing to hit him upon stepping through the threshold. Though his mouth was sealed shut with another talisman slapped over his lips, Satoru could hear the quiet rumble of a high-pitched growl radiating from the boy.
Masaru trailed after Satoru, hiding his lower face behind his arm to block the smell as if it offended him.
"Quite an unsightly one, is it not? It figures the heathen curse would choose an improper omega."
Satoru grimaced, avoiding the little omega's eyes. He knew what the elder meant; it was common knowledge that male omegas (and female alphas) were considered bad omens in Jujutsu society. Their very existence was considered obscene and unnatural, a willful defiance of the laws of nature. There was really no winning for them in such a restrictive society.
It was also probably hurting Masaru's pride that the boy wasn't pissing himself in fear, if the old man's raised hackles were anything to go by. Omegas were meant to be meek and compliant, to submit to the will of those stronger than them, yet this omega met their gazes with a challenging glare. His eyes bore into them, conveying every ounce of defiance that could be held in his body. Satoru had to give it to him; the kid had guts.
Satoru theatrically gags at the sudden influx of domineering pheromones saturating the air around Masaru. It wasn't particularly strong, the older man's scent weakening with age, but it was still offensive to Satoru's poor nose. Posturing like a newly presented pup against a tied-up omega? How much more pathetic could you get?
Having had enough, he clapped his hands and whistled lowly to break up the stare-down between the old alpha and young omega, both sets of eyes drawn toward him.
"Sooo… What exactly is the plan now that you have him all tied up in your basement?"
"Simple," Masaru straightened his back, reeling back his scent. "We'll use him to force Sukuna's hand. If he wants his little toy back, then he'll be forced to meet certain reasonable demands."
Right, Satoru thinks, because Sukuna is so well known for giving in to "reasonable demands."
The look on his face must give away his thoughts, or maybe it's the muffled scoff from their captive that makes the alpha bristle with offense.
"If he doesn't, then we'll kill his broodmare, starting with carving out its vile womb. It eliminates the possibility of the curse creating spawn with it," he sneered.
Satoru was honestly surprised they hadn't already done that, especially if they really thought he was capable of carrying a curse's child to term. It was possible, but extremely unlikely—the last instance of an omega with the ability was one hundred and fifty years ago.
The omega draws their attention once more as his struggle begins anew, the clattering of the chains that bound his wrists and neck echoing in the mostly empty room. He was trying to say something, the words muffled beneath the talisman.
The corners of the old man's mouth ticked upwards, perhaps pleased by the idea that his frantic writhing was spurred by fear. He turned, hunching before where the boy was forced to kneel.
"Oh? Has reality finally set in? What do you have to say for yourself?" He cooed and dug his withered fingers into the omega's plush cheek, grasping the edge of the talisman and cruelly ripping it from his face. "Well?"
The boy does not flinch. Instead, he licked his dry lips and smiled, gaze flickering away from Satoru to meet the elder's directly.
"It doesn't matter what you do to me; Sukuna will hunt you like the dog you are."
Then, he spat directly in the man's eyes.
Chaos erupted as Masaru stumbled back, roaring with shock and anger. The sorcerers stationed outside the room came rushing in, cursed weapons raised in preparation. They paused, unsure how to proceed when the prisoner was still restrained and helpless. Masaru had no such reservations.
"You damned whore!" he raged, raising a hand as if to strike the boy, scent flaring. But before he could, Satoru surged forward, snatching his bony wrist in a vice grip, hard enough that he could feel the way his old bones creaked. It would be so easy to snap the man's hand clean off.
A sudden thick tension fell over the room as Masaru slowly turned his head toward Satoru, an inkling of fear finally bleeding through the arrogant gleam, like blood in the water. The guards hardly dared to breathe, lest they draw the wrong kind of attention. Even their unruly prisoner had fallen silent, watching the scene with rapt interest.
"Gojo Satoru," Masaru started, a shaky warning in his tone. He swallows thickly, nerves warring with pride. "You had best remember yourself."
"Is that right?"
Satoru's smile was cold and brittle, glacial eyes peeking from over the top of his sunglasses.
"Perhaps we should both take a step back, then. Give our prisoner time to sweat."
The elder hesitated, then nodded quickly and tugged his hand away from Satoru, who reluctantly let him go. He rubbed his no doubt tender wrist, throwing one last scathing look at the chained down omega, before turning on his heel and marching out of the room, as if he had decided to leave on his own.
The guards nipped at Masaru's heels as the man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and dabbed at his face. Satoru spared the omega one last glance, then stepped outside as well. Masaru tossed the now soiled cloth, the handkerchief fluttering to the floor. Masaru stands, facing away from Satoru and staring at the wall.
"As you just saw, the omega is just as vile as the curse it lies with," he said after a moment.
"Get to the point," Satoru stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I know you didn't drag me down here just to brag. You want something."
"Lacking tact as always," Masaru huffed.
"But I'm not wrong."
The old alpha tapped his cane against the concrete floor, deliberating on what to say, before tipping his head back with a groan.
"You are the strongest sorcerer of this generation-"
"Ooooh, flattery~"
Masaru grit his teeth but ignored him.
"-and the only one who stands a chance against Ryomen Sukuna. Taking his bride captive was a once-in-a-million chance—a stroke of good fortune. I have no illusions that we would be able to pull it off again. We need to guard our advantage."
Satoru could see where this was going. "So, you want me on babysitting duty? Not really my style."
At least, not anymore. Once upon a time, he had been a teacher. He'd been forced to quit not long after Sukuna's uprising; there was no time to properly enrich the minds of up-and-coming sorcerers when he was constantly putting out fires. Figuratively and, on occasion, literally.
"Call it whatever you want, it must be done. The fate of Japan, and possibly the entire world, rests upon us."
The words settled over Satoru's shoulders, a familiar weight that had been forced upon him since birth. A burden he refused to acknowledge the strain of. It was not Atlas's right to complain.
He mulled the situation over, weighing the possible advantages he could gain. There was the obvious boon of possibly gaining some insight into Sukuna, though he doubted the boy would be eager to speak on it, based on his general vibe so far. The other was maintaining his facade of obedience to the elders.
That didn't mean he couldn't push the limits of that facade, though.
"Fine, but I'm doing it my way."
"Meaning?" Masaru finally faced him, expectant.
"Meaning, I'm not sitting in your creepy underground sex dungeon where you tie up unwilling kids," he paused to let his statement sink in, cutting the man off before he could deny it. "He'll stay with me."
Damn, if only he had a camera on hand, just so he could capture that puckered "sucked a lemon" look of incredulity that twisted Masaru's already wrinkled-up face. It made him look even more like a leathery raisin.
"Absolutely not. Not only would that leave the omega exposed, but we risk it getting loose. We don't know what the thing is capable of."
It was true that very little was known about Bride of Curses, with even his existence being highly debated. Very few had lived to tell the tale of the mysterious figure that haunted the halls of Sukuna's lair.
But Satoru simply shrugged, nonchalant.
"Those are my conditions. Take it or leave it, but you said it yourself. I'm the only one suitable for the job."
The old man's face flushed with anger, his mouth opening and closing as he undoubtedly thought up a few choice words he'd like to say. Finally, after a solid minute of the elder floundering, he let out a long-suffering sigh.
"I hope you understand what you're risking, Satoru-kun."
He loathed it when Masaru called him by his given name, the sound of it sticking to him like old gum.
"I do."
The old alpha eyed him again, the way a father looked at their rebelling child, then reached into his breast pocket, digging out a set of keys, imbued with cursed energy that matched the chains holding the boy down.
"Very well. I must be on my way. I have to inform the rest of the council. Do be aware that I'm sticking my neck out for you."
As if Satoru had asked.
With that, Masaru bowed politely and gestured for the guards to escort him away. They flanked him on either side as the old alpha limped past.
Once he could no longer hear the tap of his cane echoing through the vast hallways, he turned back to the ajar door. They'd gone through quite a bit of trouble to hide the omega away, deep underground, bound by talismans and cursed chains.
He brushed a hand through his hair, pushing the silky white strands back and away from his forehead. He could already tell this would be troublesome. Oh well.
Satoru smirked and bumped the door back open with his hip, twirling the keys around his fingers playfully. The omega tracked him with his eyes as he approached and knelt in front of the boy.
The omega pursed his pink lips—everything about the boy was so pink, from his hair, adorned with golden pins, to his rosy cheeks, flush with anger, to his tattered silk robes peeking through the talismans. The boy glared at him from under his pale lashes, and a growl bubbled forth from his throat the second Satoru reached for him.
"Relax. You know what keys are for, yeah? I'm getting you outta here."
The boy's brows furrowed with confusion, the growl petering out like a failing engine.
They'd shackled him in a rather cruel position. Placed on his knees, the chain connected to his neck anchored him to the floor and forced him to hunch his back and bow his head. The chains around his wrists, however, wrenched his arms far behind his back, stretched to their limit, and connected to the ceiling; it was most likely painful.
Satoru started with his left wrist, figuring he needed a little trust before he went for the metal collar encircling the boy's fragile neck and digging into his tender scent glands. The key slotted easily into the lock, and with a metallic pop, the shackle opened up. The relief on the omega's face is immediate now that the strain on his shoulder is gone.
He allows Satoru to free his right arm too without protest, rolling his shoulders to work out the tension. However, he flinches away when he sees Satoru reach for his neck.
"No," he rasped. "Give me the key, I'll do that one myself."
Satoru doesn't give it much thought before handing over the key with a shrug. He was confident that there wasn't much the boy could do against him. If he were smart, then the omega would try to bide his time.
The boy fumbles to unlock the collar, practically tossing the thing away from him once it unclasps. Climbing to his feet, he rolls his neck, groaning when his joints pop. The motion releases a plume of his scent from his uncovered glands.
Satoru could practically taste it on his tongue; sun-warmed, syrupy peaches, with something spicy and warm beneath the honeyed sweetness. He tilted his head, picking the different notes apart. The grounded earthiness of patchouli, a warm but sturdy woodsy note, an exotic but rich hint of vanilla, all layered on top of each other. It was surprisingly complex now that the distress scent had dissipated.
If the boy notices his not-so-subtle sniffing, he doesn't acknowledge it. Instead, he turned his attention to the talismans wound around his arms, legs, and chest like bandages on a mummy. He tears into them the way a kid on Christmas carelessly rips through wrapping paper, though with much more disgust and anger.
He has a bit of trouble getting the ones on his back, but stubbornly refuses to ask for any help. Satoru doesn't offer, either, figuring he'd probably be brushed off anyway. Instead, he "contributes" by pointing at a random point on the boy's back.
"Missed a spot."
"Ugh, whatever!"
He throws his hands up in the universal sign for "fuck it!"
Without the talismans in the way, Satoru can get a better look at the kimono he'd been dressed in. Though not quite as resplendent as a Junihitoe or an Uchikake, the Irotomesode he wore was certainly eye-catching. The base was a lovely, spring pink to match his hair, with a thick Obi the color of spun gold around the waist to highlight his eyes and hair ornaments. But what really drew the eye were the black flowers that swirled up from the bottom of the kimono, each one lined with that same gold thread.
Kuroyuri flowers.
The flower of love and curses.
Satoru would bet the kimono was custom-made, especially with such an on-the-nose symbol decorating it. Even dirty and tattered as it was now, it was still quite beautiful.
The boy doesn't take kindly to his staring; he glowers at him, smoothing out his ruined kimono as if to say it was his fault.
Satoru ignores the hostility, stuffing his hands in his pockets.
"Man, I don't know about you, but this dingy basement gives me the heebie jeebies. How about we get outta here?" Then, before the boy could even respond, "I'm craving something sweet after all that. Do you like pancakes? I make a pretty decent pancake."
"Pancakes…?" The boy's tense brow slackened in confusion by the sudden subject change, then shot up in alarm as Satoru rather suddenly invaded his space, faster than he could react.
"Try not to freak out, kay?"
And then, before the boy could pull away from him, he grasped his wrist and warped them straight to his living room on campus. Infinity folded over itself, allowing him to close the distance instantaneously between where he was and where he wanted to be. Still, to the omega, it just appeared as if their surroundings had just phased into another place.
Despite his generous warning, the boy still shrieked in alarm, flailing gracelessly as he was abruptly shoved off balance by the floor vanishing.
Satoru laughed and let him topple over onto his nice, plush carpet.
"Welcome to my humble abode!" He spreads his arms out in a sort of "tad-aa" motion. "And, your new home for the foreseeable future."
His Tokyo campus residence was a nice, but fairly simple, house with an open floor plan. To the right of the foyer was a sleek kitchen, separated from the main living area by a strip of marble counters with chairs. His office was sectioned off from the living area with large, windowed double doors, adjacent to the stairs. He had three bedrooms and two baths upstairs, and a basement area, all to himself.
The boy gaped at him from his spot on the floor. "What was…? Where are we?!"
"I already said it was my house, didn't I?" Satoru sauntered over to a chair by his counter, pulling it out and spinning it around so he could sit backwards in it. He rested his chin on the back and gestured at his couch a few feet away. "Make yourself at home. Mi casa es su casa, or whatever."
The omega huffed in annoyance, but recovered rather quickly, dusting off his already filthy kimono as he climbed to his feet. For a second, he stared contemplatively at the window, like he was weighing the pros and cons of just jumping out. Satoru tensed in preparation, but the boy just sighed and slumped over to the couch, collapsing against the arm.
He wiggled a bit to get settled, smoothing a hand nervously over his legs. He draped his other arm over the arm of the couch, stiff as can be.
An awkward silence fell over them then, Satoru staring at the back of the boy's head and the boy staring blankly at the wall.
Satoru never could stand the silence; it just made him all too aware of how his brain was always running. Burning constantly to keep Infinity on, and the only thing keeping it from frying is his constant use of RCT. His feet tapped against the floor incessantly, matching the way the omega's fingers tapped against the arm of the couch. It seemed he handled the quiet just as well.
Satoru hadn't really planned this whole thing out, not when it had been sprung on him so suddenly. Hell, even the decision to bring the omega to his den had been a spur-of-the-moment thing, one he was sure he'd regret; too many foreign bodies invading his space in such a short time period.
He assumed most of his lower-tier missions would be relegated to others too, which meant lots of extra time for this. God, and if the whole mission was like this—uncomfortable silence and carefully avoided eye contact—then Satoru would surely go crazy.
But it's the omega that breaks first, surprisingly, only a handful of minutes into the silence.
"Soooo," he draws out the word awkwardly, turning his head just enough for Satoru to see the corner of his eye. "What now? You passed on keeping me in your dungeon because you didn't want to sit and stare at me… just to sit in silence and stare at me somewhere else?"
Satoru raised a brow. "Are you complaining about not being chained up in our dungeon?"
The boy quickly shook his head. "No! Don't get me wrong, I'll take a good couch over that any day, but… I don't get your angle here."
He didn't have an angle, really. He had agreed to this whole thing on the off chance of getting information, but interrogation wasn't really his forte. He was more of a "beat up the bad guys and leave the clean up to others" type of guy.
He knew jack shit about this kid. Hell, he didn't even think the guy was real until about 20 minutes ago!
If only there were a good way to get to know each other…
Satoru straightened in his seat, sunglasses sliding down his nose as he was struck with a bolt of inspiration. He turned wide, startlingly blue eyes toward the now wary boy.
"Let's play 20 questions!"
The boy choked, but recovered quickly, rolling his eyes so dramatically that Satoru was sure he got a look at his own brain.
"I'm not that stupid. I'm not telling you a thing about Sukuna."
"Actually, I was aiming more for an excuse to get your name." A name was as good a place to start as any, right?
"My… name?" The boy blinked, then squinted at him suspiciously. "Why? Are you trying to put a curse on it?"
"Nah, my technique doesn't work like that," Satoru flapped a hand dismissively. "It's more that I'm getting tired of calling you 'the boy' or 'the omega' in my head. Look, I'll start."
He turned fully to the omega, cockily jabbing his thumbs toward his own chest.
"Gojo Satoru, strongest Jujutsu sorcerer this world's ever seen."
Then, he points at the omega with both hands, pointedly ignoring the boy's unimpressed expression. "And you?"
For a second, he thinks the boy won't answer, and that this whole mission really was gonna be a major drag. But then…
"Itadori Yuuji. From Sendai."
Satoru's victorious grin stretched his cheeks until they hurt. He'd have Ijiichi gather whatever information he could later, though he doubted he'd get much. Satoru knew every sorcerer clan currently in existence, and he was sure he'd never heard of an "Itadori."
There was the possibility that he was lying about his name, of course, but Satoru got the gut feeling he was being honest.
"That means it's my turn for a question, right?"
"Sure does, Yuuji-kun," he purred the boy's name in that tone of voice that always used to make the omegas squeal. Yuuji doesn't seem to notice, lips pursed as he mulled over his question. He turned in his seat to face Satoru dead on, expression almost comically serious.
"Why'd you stop that old guy from hitting me?"
Satoru peeks at him from under his glasses, throws him a wink and a winning smile, answering without much thought.
"I just can't stand seeing a pretty omega cry."
Yuuji's face dropped with surprise and disappointment, even as his cheeks flushed slightly from the compliment. Satoru got the feeling he'd failed some test in the omega's mind. Not that he particularly cared what others thought of him.
"You should really be careful who you decide to flirt with. The wrong word might cost you your neck."
"The danger is what makes it fun," Satoru shot back.
"Shameless," Yuuji scoffed, but it felt more amused than disapproving.
"And dare I say you find it endearing?" He asked, coquettishly.
"It's a fine line." Yuuji makes a "so-so" gesture with his hand.
Satoru's grin turned wolfish; he could work with that.
"My turn again," Satoru nestled his chin against his palm, "how old are you?"
This time, he answers with much less hesitation.
"Nineteen, but I'll be twenty by the end of the month. You?"
"Thirty-two years young. How long have you been with Sukuna?"
"Pass," Yuuji blurted, then tacked on nervously. "No questions about Sukuna, remember?"
Satoru cocked a brow. Based on that reaction, he'd bet it was either a very short amount of time or a long time. And considering his age… ah.
"Damn, that young, huh?" He whistled lowly.
The omega cringed, likely upset he'd been so easily read. But then he caught on to what Satoru was implying and flushed indignantly.
"I'll have you know, Sukuna was never… untoward with me in my younger years."
"Of course," Satoru drawled. "I would never suspect Sukuna of misdeeds."
"My turn," Yuuji snapped, waspish. "Are you always such a dick?"
"The biggest one you'll ever see," Satoru snickered, then outright laughed at the exasperated groan that followed. "All right, all right, I get the memo. Sukuna is a no-no topic. Let's stick to easy questions, then."
He pretends to think for a moment while Yuuji regains his composure.
"Would you rather meet an alien or a vampire?"
A beat.
"Huh?" Yuuji blinked. "What kinda question is that?"
"A valid one that's within your terms," Satoru replied easily. "Which means you have to answer. Thems the rules."
Never mind that the boy didn't really agree to any rules; it does the trick nonetheless.
"Aliens," he starts, slow at first, then gaining confidence. "Hands down. Vampires are just people who drink blood and have a garlic allergy. Aliens, though… now that could be anything! And maybe we could make friends with them too, and they can take us on their awesome space ships!!"
He pantomimed with his hands a spaceship flying down and picking up a little stick figure.
"Oho! More of a sci-fi guy, then? I can get behind it. It's only a matter of time before we find aliens or they find us, if you ask me."
"Definitely," Yuuji nodded sagely. It took him a moment to remember it was his turn to ask a question. "Shit, now I gotta think of a good one…" Yuuji muttered, squinting and poking his forehead as if to turn on his brain. "Eehhhh…"
He wracks his brain, then snaps his fingers. "I know! Zombie apocalypse or robot apocalypse, which one are ya surviving?"
"Both, easily. At the same time, even! Make it zombie robots or robot zombies, I'm takin' them down," Satoru gasconaded with a lazy smirk, leaning back to puff out his chest.
"What do robot zombies eat?" Yuuji wondered.
"Robot brains, obviously. Now it's my turn."
It continued from there, and the questions ranged from mundane (Favorite color?) to strange (Would you rather have taste buds on your hands or noses on your feet?). As the game went on, Yuuji relaxed more and more, even cracking a small but sunny smile that made Satoru feel accomplished.
"Would you rather have an insane mullet or a really bad bowl cut?"
"I would rock them both." Satoru rested his chin on his hand, smirking as Yuuji squinted at him, clearly trying to picture each haircut on him. He snorted a laugh.
"Fine, fine, but which would you prefer?"
"The mullet, obviously. You said "insane," not "bad," and I would look stunning with flowing locks. Total bishonen," Satoru stated the objective truth as he reached for one of his white hand towels, draping it over his head and flipping his faux "hair" over his shoulder.
Yuuji broke into a fit of giggles, and Satoru felt that warm glow of odd satisfaction again, the kind he so rarely got nowadays.
Satoru twirled his "hair" around his finger as he thought up the next question.
"What's your favorite movie?"
The giggles fizzled out as Yuuji thought about it. But the longer he thinks about it, the more his brow creases and his smile falls. Satoru had thought it was a pretty easy question.
"I… don't know, actually. I haven't actually just sat and watched a movie in… I don't know," Yuuji hesitantly answered.
"But you've seen the classics, right? Like Spirited Away? Godzilla? Human Earthworm?" Well, that last one was more of a cult classic, but still!
"Well, I think I know a couple of those?" He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck.
Satoru gasped and clutched his chest, scandalized. Yuuji rolled his eyes again at the dramatics, but it felt more fond this time around.
"I mean, my grandpa used to watch stuff with me, but that was before…" the omega trailed off, lighthearted grin withering as his scent grew somber. Satoru knew that look of grief, faded and worn like a photograph you held far too often. The boy wore it well, though, and shouldered it with grace, head still held high. "I mostly watched anime and dramas before it all."
Satoru doesn't comment on it, not really good at the whole comfort thing. Instead, he barrels through the tense atmosphere with all the subtlety of a bull.
"I think it's time you got a proper education, then," he announced, staring solemnly over his glasses, "about the beauty of a truly terrible B movie."
With a mere flicker of his power, he transports himself down to his basement in an instant, crouching before the media cabinet and gathering up a random assortment of every DVD he can get his hands on. He teleports back upstairs, appearing just behind a confused Yuuji. The boy yelps as he lets the pile of DVDs clatter onto the couch, turning to him with wide eyes.
Reaching over the back, Satoru plucked a single movie from the pile.
"We'll start with this one," he waved the DVD in question in front of Yuuji's face. Even the cover art looked cheesy, a pretty girl caught mid-scream as a monster looms over her. "The main heroine is dreadfully annoying, but she dies spectacularly!"
"Uh, spoilers?" Yuuji muttered, too confused to really be mad.
He popped the case open, prying out the DVD and sliding it into the player. Call him old-fashioned, but Satoru preferred physical media. He snatches the remote on the way back to the couch, diving straight in the middle so he could throw a friendly arm around Yuuji's shoulders.
To Satoru's surprise, the boy rolls with it with only mild squirming. He shot Satoru a look out of the corner of his eye.
"I might not be an expert, but even I know we'll need popcorn and soda for a proper movie experience."
"Ha!" Satoru barked a laugh. "I've got the feeling you and I are gonna get along well."
"Woah!! Did you see that?! His head, like, exploded!" Yuuji exclaimed, pointing emphatically at the TV. "Man, those effects were so bad, it looked like a rotten watermelon."
"It gets better," Satoru shushed him just as a shrill scream rang out from the TV and a monster burst through the main actress's chest. It would be gruesome if the monster weren't very obviously a puppet pushing through the busty woman's blouse, and the "blood" wasn't so very obviously water with red food dye.
Yuuji cracked up at the less-than-stellar acting that followed, muffling his giggles by shoving another handful of buttery popcorn into his mouth. He'd fully settled into couch potato mode, curled up against the arm with Satoru's legs in his lap—Satoru had decided to sprawl; it was his right as the owner of the couch, after all.
Like this, he looked like any other teenager Satoru had mentored over the years.
Dozens of questions nagged at Satoru's brain, questions he knew he would get no answer for. At least, not yet.
Still, he'd managed to learn a few crucial key points about the boy, whether he realized it or not.
For example, he couldn't lie for shit. Either that, or he was the best actor on planet earth.
It wasn't necessarily that his lying face was bad, but that he had no idea what was or wasn't a believable lie. It was like he was playing poker without knowing his own hand—he didn't know when to bluff or fold. Not that he chose to bluff often. In fact, he'd come across as painfully earnest, heart pinned upon his sleeve.
And what a heart he seemed to have, full to bursting with emotion. Even now, during something as simple as watching a movie, Yuuji gave it his all emotionally. He laughed at every joke, cringed at the fails, and he even cried during one of the more compelling movies. How this kid had gotten mixed up with Sukuna was mystifying.
"What?!" The boy shouted suddenly, forcing Satoru to tune back into what was going on. "That's how the movie ends?!"
Satoru refused to admit he wasn't paying attention at all, but if he remembered this movie right…
"Well, yeah. They defeated the monster, and now everything's sunshine and rainbows." He fanned his fingers and moved his hands in an arc to emphasize his point.
"But that's so… sad."
"Sad," Satoru deadpanned. Leave it to the monster fucker to sympathize with the monster, Satoru mused. "It was killing people. Brutally."
"It used to be people."
It being the creature from the movie. The starring monster in this creature feature (which happened to be a spin-off of the main Human Earthworm series) was an amalgam of failed human experiments from Dr. Richter that had melted together into one big, horrifying collection of limbs and anger.
"But it wasn't anymore." Satoru sat up slightly, pulling his legs out of the boy's space, sensing the serious turn the conversation was taking. "You heard what the nerd said, it didn't have a consciousness anymore."
"So they thought. The ending said otherwise!" Yuuji fired back hotly. "It let them kill it!"
Jeez, who took a movie this seriously? Satoru groaned and let his head flop back against the back of the couch. "Okay, counterpoint, that's even worse. If I were turned into a weird, slimy, fleshy, tentacle bug thing, I'd want someone to kill me."
"I said it was sad, not that they should let it suffer," Yuuji grumbled with a slight pout. "I just think, I dunno, that the characters could have been less… cruel to it."
"It killed their friends."
"I know! I know. But doesn't it deserve to have a good death? A proper one. It's what everyone deserves."
"A proper death," Satoru repeated, tone dripping with mockery. "Is that what Sukuna's doing? Giving his victims proper deaths?"
Yuuji's shoulders stiffened, but he seemed unsuprised by the barb. Really, they both knew it was only a matter of time before the obvious subject was broached; what was some naive, emotional kid doing with a monster like Sukuna?
"No," Yuuji admits.
"Yet you still choose to stand by him." Satoru doesn't bother mincing his words.
"I choose to love him," Yuuji corrected, as if there was a difference. "I don't agree with the loss of life. On that, Sukuna and I have never seen eye to eye."
He turned away, as if Satoru's scrutinizing stare would burn him to his core.
"People deserve proper deaths. To die with dignity, to die with the people they love. I want to save people so that they can have a proper death, and I can do that from Sukuna's side."
He mustered up the will to meet Satoru's eye imploringly.
"Sukuna would have taken millions more lives without me there, and I worry what he'll do now that I'm not. You understand what I'm saying, don't you? You have to let me go back to him."
Satoru did understand. So much made more sense now that they'd discovered Yuuji—the sudden secrecy on Sukuna's part, the way his destruction had been so much more contained than it had been one thousand years ago. They had thought the fearsome curse incapable of affection; it was what made the rumors of a bride so hard to believe.
But Yuuji's presence was undeniable proof. He was practically soaked with Sukuna's residual cursed energy, the menacing aura dripping from his skin like tar. Whether it was truly love or not was debatable, but it was clear that Sukuna had, at the very least, claimed Yuuji as his own. And a being as prideful as the King of Curses would not take kindly to the sorcerers taking what was his.
There was no doubt that the retaliation would be massive.
Yet Satoru knew his hands were tied. He needed to play his part until he had enough allies, allies who could overthrow the current regime from the inside. He also needed to consider that Masaru had been right about one thing; this was the first advantage they'd had over the King of Curses since he'd ascended to power.
Could they really afford to give up this one bit of leverage?
Slipping on a smile was as easy as putting on one's favorite, worn-through clothes, retreating into the comfort of the familiar.
"And end all the fun so soon? I'm hurt, Yuuji-kun. Are you not having fun with me?"
Yuuji sighed. "You're making a mistake. A mistake that lots of people will suffer for."
"If you help us end Sukuna's reign of terror, then those people won't have to suffer, then."
The omega's face creases into a pained expression, as if the weight of some invisible burden were weighing down his features. "I can't do that."
"You can. Sukuna clearly keeps you close, and you said you want to save people. How can they get their proper deaths when Sukuna slaughters them?"
"I can't!" The words ripped themselves from Yuuji like he was tearing out his heart. "I can't because I love him. He's my husband, my mate."
"Who you stay with out of some twisted sense of obligation. Hate to break it to you, but that ain't love."
"You don't know anything!" Yuuji snapped defensively. "You don't know that he's the best thing that ever happened to me! How gentle he is with me, how he holds me."
"Your "gentle" husband has killed thousands. Will kill more."
Every reminder of what Sukuna had done, what he would do, seemed to batter the boy's mind. He flinched at the reminders, clenched his fists so hard that his nails dug bloody crescents into his palms.
But his resolve held strong.
"I know that I'm the only one who can accept him, the only one who can live with him. There's not a single person left in this world who can forgive him…"
"Do you even realize what you're sacrificing for your love?"
"I do." Yuuji smiled wryly. "Love is a twisted curse."
Satoru felt as if he'd been struck, realization dawning upon him.
He'd said something similar, long ago, to a boy who was not much older than Yuuji. Love had chained his childhood friend to him, ravaged her spirit until it was unrecognizable. Hell, Satoru had felt this sentiment himself, remembered it every time he looked upon his oldest friend's visage, despite knowing he was long gone.
It was a feeling he would not wish upon any child. And Yuuji had been a child when Sukuna took him in, hadn't he? Nineteen. Sukuna had been around for six years now, and they had noticed the change in his behavior a year ago. Assuming it had been a gradual change…
The boy must have been at most seventeen, possibly even younger, when he met Sukuna and was taken in by him, groomed to be his wife. Really, it was impressive that he had even held on to his morals so stubbornly.
Satoru felt all the tension leave his body, slumping back against the couch.
"You're right."
No, the Bride of Curses wasn't some mythical monster, a beast of endless hunger and blood.
He was just a boy.
An energetic teenager, full to bursting with emotion, conviction, and naive ideals. One who cried over movies, wanted to befriend an alien, loved the color red, and thought everyone deserved a proper death, whatever the hell that even meant.
He wanted to be with the one he loved and to save people.
And Satoru wanted to save him, too.
"Love is the most twisted curse of all."